


Kill Your Legends

by kitmarlowe



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, High School AU, I will finish this fic if it kills me, Link's NEW IN TOWN, Modern AU, and not having a good time, artistic license taken with all LOZ lore, but also not??, extremely self-indulgent idk what to tell you guys, haphazard adventures, no beta pls forgive my sins, there will be angst but mostly we are here to have fun!!, there's like plot and bullshit it's weird, this is very Percy Jackson inspired, thx Rick Riordan, what if Legend of Zelda was a YA fantasy novel: the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowe/pseuds/kitmarlowe
Summary: The gods have set a game into motion that is rapidly coming to close.Meanwhile, Zelda’s just trying to get through her last year of high school. Except she’s having weird dreams again. And there’s a new kid in class that she definitely doesn’t know, but feels like she should. Also her teachermightbe trying to kill her, but she’s not too clear on that one either.*re-outlining/writing, so on hiatus! Read at your own risk :)*
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

The September wind brings change. Farore can taste it on her tongue, feel the unease in the course of her being. It’s the same feeling every time the shift of power comes, as the smoldering heat of Din’s August quiets into a more palatable sun, the heat easing into Farore’s months of strength. Over the centuries, Farore’s time has shrunk to just a few months, as humans paid more worship to her sisters, but Farore can make do with less. Courage is not needed in great increments—even just a little could change the flow of history.

This cycle, it would have to. 

Farore makes her way quickly up the altar, the hilt of a very important sword clutched in her hand. She had plucked it this morning out of Nothingness, where it had been floating for quite some time, waiting to be of service once again. At some point, many cycles ago, it had glimmered with the moon’s blessing and the sun’s power; today, it's dull and rusty. Hardly the sword of a champion that had slain more monsters and demons than Farore could remember. 

Still, there has never been a cycle without it, and Farore can't risk starting this one differently. It had been in bad shape before—though perhaps not as bad as this. But it had recovered. 

“Is this wise, Farore?”

Farore does not jump. Goddesses, after all, can't be surprised. Especially by their sister goddesses, who they had been with since before time even mattered. 

Farore stops just short of the top of the altar, sword in hand, an odd smile gracing her lips. “Din,” she says, without turning. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like Nayru.” 

Din snorts at that, sweeping up the altar’s steps to join Farore. If any mortal could see them, they would be unable to tell the sisters apart. But Farore can smell the ash that accompanies Din, and sees the way the Earth rumbled in response to her footsteps. “Your champion has not won for many cycles, Farore.” Din eyes the sword critically. “Not even that relic has changed it.” 

“No,” Farore agrees. “Your champion has seen to that each time.” 

Din shrugs. “My champion’s power has grown with my own. His foresight and planning has been impressive the last few cycles.” 

Farore’s grip on the sword tightens. “This time will be different, though.”

“You seem so certain.” Din presses a hand into the tree next to her; in one instant, it bursts into flames, glorious, and raging. “Even though your own territory has grown so weak over the centuries.”

Farore cries out, her entire being aching, and _reaches_. She confronts the fire, and summoning what little strength she has, smothers it. The fire disappears, as if someone had sucked all the energy out of it. But it was for nothing--the tree is practically ash. Farore turns away, back to the pedestal in front of her. “Din, you are blinded by your own power.” 

“To the contrary, Farore, I see quite clearly.” Din frowns, moving so that she was right in Farore’s sight. “Even that brief expense of energy has left you weak.”

Farore does not deny it. How can she? Even her appearance on the mortal plane is taking more and more from her, the longer she stays. 

The path before her, then, is clear. Farore raises the sword. 

Again, Goddesses can't be easily surprised. Goddesses do not change like humans did, do not learn over time. They had been born all knowing, without the constraints of time or the natural world, and very rarely, do they step out of their assigned role. Usually, when they did, great consequences are felt across the human land. The last time, continents had split apart. And so, it's with extreme surprise, that Din watches as Farore imbues almost her entire remaining power in the sword, before sliding it carefully into its rightful place. Immediately, Farore feels its absence. Her essence feels hollow—the only thing keeping it together the memory of a millennia. 

When Farore looks back up at Din, she sees that the other’s eyes are wide. Her face looks stricken. 

“That was foolish of you, Farore.” 

Without so much of a sound, their third sister had appeared. Nayru stands at the bottom of the altar steps, looking like a mirror of her sisters. Her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, Nayru ascends, dark hair streaming down her back like a river. 

“But you expected it,” Farore says, as Nayru reached the top. 

“If this cycle ends badly for your champion, you will fade,” Nayru says. She always did catch on quickly. 

Din, for her part, looks horrified. “That has never happened to a goddess before.” 

“Have you heard from Lanayru lately?” Farore points out. “The humans have disrespected her oceans to such a point that she is barely of this plane anymore.” 

“And you would follow her willingly?” Din asks. Then again, Din could never imagine relinquishing power like Farore just had. It is not in her nature.

“If I must.” 

“The spirits are less concrete than we are, Farore. They come and go, often, and are used to rematerialization,” Nayru says. “If you do this, there is no telling that you will come back.”

“Unfortunately, it’s already done.” Farore grins at Nayru’s ever present solemn frown and Din’s still petrified stare. “Come now, the game has been the same for centuries. I thought we might as well raise the stakes.” 

“These stakes are raised for you.” Nayru speaks slowly, emphasizing each word like she might to a classroom. “And with that much power in play, we can’t predict how the spirits will react on Earth.” 

Farore’s grin only widens. “Then I suppose this will be very interesting.” 

Din shakes her head. “You are a fool, Farore.” She pauses. “But I suppose you are right. The game has become stagnant.”

Nayru scoffs. “You fools. This is not a game. This is about _balance_.”

“When was the last time it was truly balanced, Nayru?” Farore asks. “Have you seen the state of Hyrule? We have not achieved balance since the first game. Ever since then, it’s been a constant struggle.”

Nayru regards her coolly, but says nothing. It is, Farore knows, the only way Nayru knew of saving face without admitting she was wrong. Feeling almost triumphant, Farore turns her back on her sisters, and the sword, and begins to descend the altar steps. She has other preparations to finish. 

“No matter what happens. This is the last one,” Nayru calls after her. “Are you prepared for that?”

Farore pauses at the bottom of the steps. For a moment, she can see two outcomes clearly in her mind: one of burning fire and raging ice, and one of soft rain, and clear days. They dance in front of her, before fading completely.

The future had become uncertain to the goddesses. Farore doesn't think any of them could be prepared for it. 


	2. I

Castle Town, Maryland is a town so small that it might as well not even exist to some, and certainly didn’t to the Greater Outside World. With maybe 200 people and located so far north, the town still debated whether they were part of Maryland or part of Pennsylvania. It’s so often forgotten on a map, that a favorite game in the town is timing people to see how long it would take to find Castle Town through an internet search. It takes an hour to reach a highway, and another 45 minutes to reach any recognizable part of civilization. There are exactly three farms that produce food and three shops that sell it. In Castle Town, the streets are more of an  _ idea _ and the shops more of a thought that someone had.

Zelda, for the thousandth, millionth, billionth, time in her life, is making her way down these winding paths, dirt kicking up beneath the cobblestone at her feet. She picks her way over the stones that still have to be fixed, and never will be, and trips over a new one, much to her chagrin. At 6 AM, it’s early -- certainly too early for any respectable high school senior, and too early for her definitely -- but the sun glares high already. It’s the first day of fall and Zelda thinks it’s the hottest day of the year so far. She wipes at her forehead, waving absently at a few townsfolk, who are groggily opening their business for the day. 

Her first destination of the day is not far -- though nothing is really far in Castle Town. In the middle of town, the only important cafe and bar sits, with a rickety wooden roof and a bright orange sign declaring itself TELMA’S. As far as Zelda’s ever been able to tell, it’s open nearly all hours of the day, and she’s never seen Telma sleep. Whether the woman is serving coffee or serving alcohol at night, Telma’s well loved and friendly. Zelda hurries her way inside, the light sound of a bell announcing her arrival.

Telma’s already at the counter, rag in hand wiping up. “Why Zelda!” she says with a large grin. “Isn’t it too early for your lot to be out?”

“Never slept,” Zelda replies, sliding into a seat at the counter. 

Telma nods, understanding, already placing down a glass of iced coffee in front of Zelda. “Sleep’s a funny one. Always comes when you least want it.”

“Something like that,” Zelda says, rubbing at her eyes.

Telma hums. “Something on your mind?”

Zelda eyes her, thinking Telma’s gotten a little too used to knowing everything around town. But it’s not like her lack of sleep is a  _ secret _ . Zelda’s always had trouble sleeping, ever since she was a kid. Bad dreams, her parents said. 

They always felt too real to be dreams though. When she was younger, neighbors claimed they could hear her scream. They’d prescribe her sleeping pills at one point, but she stopped taking them awhile ago. Nowadays, she usually avoids sleep until her body shuts down.

She’s feeling desperate though, and Telma’s advice is the only kind she’s ever trusted. “How do you get rid of bad dreams?” Zelda asks. 

“Well, if you were a little older, I’d say a shot of whiskey never hurts. But that’s just ‘cause I need the extra money!” Telma says with a laugh. “Normally? Well, depends on the dream. What’cha dreaming ‘bout kid?

Fairy tale dreams, some would say, with castles that floated in the sky, and kingdoms that were painted with gold. Canyons that plummeted so deep, you couldn’t see the end, and mountains that ascended so high that only the gods themselves could see the top. 

Then, there were the dreams that felt more like nightmares. Blood and darkness filling the rivers, volcanoes erupting and the earth shattering. Bloody wars and battles waging centuries. Blood dripping down a gleaming sword that she knew she shouldn’t be wielding, but couldn’t find its rightful owner. 

Zelda doesn’t know how to explain all of that. She’s spent enough time explaining it to her dad and therapists, and honestly, fuck, she’s tired explaining it. “Nothing too memorable,” she opts for instead, taking a long drink from her iced coffee. “Falling and all that bullshit.”

Telma isn’t dumb and doesn’t look like she believes her, but Telma also is unlike most adults, and doesn’t pry. That’s, Zelda figures, why Telma’s the most popular bar in town. Telma leans her elbow on the counter, hand cradling her head. “My mom was a fortune teller. Bit of a dream scryer, if you would. She always said that you should try imagining the person who’s supposed to catch you on the other side.” Immediately, a sly grin spreads across Telma’s face. “Of course, if I was your age, there was always a boy or a girl or too that I could think of.” 

Zelda splutters. “Telma!” So much for good advice. 

Telma chuckles, straightening up from the counter top. “Sorry Zelda, sorry, I know you’re focused on other, more important things. School and such.”

“Going to college,” Zelda points out. “Maybe going a little farther than the Pennsylvania state line.”

“Very important!” Telma says. “But don’t forget to have a  _ little  _ fun.” 

Zelda wants to protest more, but the front door bells jingles again. The clomp of boots accompanies it, and then a man, taller and broader than anyone in Castle Town leans over the counter. “Morning ladies,” he says, much too cheerfully. 

“Why, Mr. Dragmire, you’re not running late for once!” Telma slides a hot cup of coffee, because Mr. Dragmire knows no sense of heat. He’s dressed head to toe in black jeans and a black button down, sunglasses resting atop his red hair. 

He slides over a few bills to Telma, with a wink. “And a little extra for my favorite dealer.”

“Your  _ only _ dealer,” Telma says. “Now, I’m impressed by the two of you, up and about so early for school.”

Mr. Dragmire glances down at Zelda, a grin stretched across his face. “Don’t tell anyone, Zelda, I need to make a cool entrance. Can’t have them think I’m  _ prepared. _ ”

Zelda snorts. Mr. Dragmire knows he doesn’t have to try at a cool entrance -- by default, he’s already everyone’s favorite teacher, being the youngest, and only teacher that watched regular TV. “Sure thing, Drags,” she drawls. “I won’t ruin your reputation.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, clapping his hand on Zelda’s shoulder. As he does, the smell of ash engulfs her. 

_ Fire and brimstone and a gleaming sword, held by a boy with burning blue eyes  _ flashes in Zelda’s head. The ash fills her all of a sudden, sinking deep into her body, and the taste of death lingers on her tongue. For a moment, she thinks her dreams have started walking. 

And then, Dragmire’s hand leaves her shoulder and his booming voice wishes Telma a good day. “Oh Zelda, tell your old man that I’ll see you both for dinner tonight! I’ll bring the dessert.”

Zelda blinks. She’s still in the coffee shop, and Dragmire’s is beaming down at her with a good-natured smile. “Sure thing,” she says, her voice sounding distant. 

“Don’t be late to class, now.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

With a wave of his hand, Dragmire disappears. 

Zelda frowns after him, disconcerted. “Lack of sleep is really getting to me,” she mutters, draining the rest of her coffee. 

“How about another one for the road, then?” Telma says.

“You just want another few dollars out of me,” Zelda says, dryly. 

“You betcha. But I’ll throw a doughnut in for the road.” 

Zelda certainly can’t say no to that. Shaking off her odd lapse in reality, she pays Telma and thanks her for the chat, before making her way back outside. The sun’s higher now, burning incessantly, and the town has begun to bustle, as more and more students she recognizes drag their feet down the road. 

Zelda joins the flow, until it carries her almost to the edge of town, where the High School sits. With a bright pink roof, and corn fields all around it, Zelda always thinks it looks more like a farmhouse. But Castle Town High School--or just The High School, or even possibly, The Upper School, or, according to some, The School That Somehow Still Functioned Despite The Students’ Continuous Efforts To Set It On Fire With the Yearly Bonfire--anyway, the school may have been painted pink on the outside and bright robin’s blue on the inside, but it is undoubtedly still a high school. 

This morning, though, it looks particularly festive, with garlands and fake autumn leaves and pumpkins decking out the front of it. At the front entrance, she can see two students hanging a banner. 

She’d been so caught up, she had almost forgotten about the fall festival this week. “Shit,” she says aloud. 

“Well,  _ that’s _ not lady-like,” a new voice interrupts her to the side, and suddenly, there’s Ruto, bright eyed as ever. Her best friend ever since Zelda can remember, and the most dramatic person Zelda knows. _Not_ that she would have it any other way. 

“I thought expressing yourself is cool now,” Zelda says.

Ruto shrugs, examining her perfectly manicured electric blue nails. “I’m going for a more  _ feminine  _ quiet today, I think,” she says, thoughtful. “I’m thinking, no cursing, but like, the most Southern polite insults you could hope for.” 

“If only we were actually Southern,” Zelda says. The two fall into step, continuing their way inside. 

“Yeah, that’s why it’ll be  _ edgy _ .” 

“Or something. Hey, can you believe I just forgot about the Fall Festival?” 

“Ah, fuck me, me too,” Ruto says.

Zelda laughs. “So much for no cursing.”

“I don’t have an outfit or a date or  _ anything _ .” Ruto groans, ignoring Zelda completely. 

“Not that there’s anyone new to date around here anyway,” Zelda says. Not that she would know -- the last boy she had kissed had been Kamali in middle school, and he moved away shortly after.  _ Not  _ because of her kissing, thank you very much! At least, so she liked to think. She contemplates not going, but not going to the fall festival, you might as well declare yourself a social outcast. And while Zelda doesn't care either way (or so she likes to think), she also doesn't have the energy to deal with that nonsense. 

Ruto huffs as they round the corner and enter their homeroom for the day. Zelda glances up at the front, and sure enough, Dragmire hasn’t arrived yet. “At this rate I’m going to end up like those sad seniors that date freshmen,” Ruto says. 

“Gross.” Zelda wriggles her nose. “They barely come up to your shoulder.” 

“I know!” Ruto throws herself into their designated seat at the back of the classroom. “Truly, this is a wasteland of men!”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” one of their classmates across the way. 

“Oh shut it Shad,” Ruto shoots back, slumping further into his chair. “Well, at least I know you’ll be my date, Zel.”

“Eh, if I don’t have other plans,” Zelda says, grinning around her second cup of coffee.

“Truly, you’re a terrible friend.”

“The worst,” Zelda agrees, offering her the coffee. 

Ruto eyes it, then takes it and drains it in one gulp. “But you do have redeeming qualities.”

“Thanks.” Zelda rolls her eyes fondly, gaze turning back to the front. She taps her cheek. “What do you think Dragmire does in the morning?”

Ruto blinks. “Drags? He’s always late. Bet he just rolls out of bed. ‘Course, if I looked like  _ that _ I would, too.”

Zelda buries her hand in her face. “Ruto,  _ please _ .”

“ _ What,  _ I’m just saying!” Ruto says. “Oh look, here he is, right on schedule.”

Indeed, Ruto’s right. Dragmire’s walk is more of a saunter, his sunglasses pinched between his teeth, as he digs out his regular spectacles. The classroom quiets down almost instantly -- a rare moment for any teacher with the senior class. “Good morning class,” Dragmire’s voice booms out in the sudden quiet. “I expect you’re well rested and ready to begin the week. And, ah, I see you’ve found your way!” 

Next to her, Ruto hisses, “ _ Who’s that? _ ” Zelda follows everyone’s gaze to the front door; there’s a boy that she had never seen, with skin so brown that it looked like it had been burned over and over again by the sun. Broad shoulders, and a green beanie covering shaggy blonde hair, and, okay, Zelda can definitely see the appeal. A low buzz takes over the classroom again. 

“There hasn’t been a new kid in Castle Town in twenty years,” Shad is saying, just a few seats over. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s more like fifteen,” another classmate, Ilia whispers. 

Ruto's grinning ear to ear, and oh  _ no _ , Zelda is  _ not _ getting involved in whatever is going on in her brain. 

“Everyone, please meet our new transfer student.” Mr. Dragmire beckons the boy to walk closer into the room. Even from the back of the room, Zelda sees his lips turn down slightly. Dragging his feet, he moved to stand next to Mr. Dragmire. Dropping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Dragmire beams out at the class. “This is Link! He’s come all the way from Arizona today to join us. Would you like to say a few words?”

Link eyes Mr. Dragmire, before heaving a sigh. “Hi,” he says, voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it that much. “Pleased to meet you all.” 

He scans the room, looking nearly desperate to leave the front. As he does, his gaze falls directly on Zelda.

Zelda’s heart catches in her throat. She knows those eyes. 

They had been burning in her dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take #2!!! I posted this once, realized I hated it the next morning, overhauled it, and now here we are. terribly sorry to everyone who read the first version of this. onward!!
> 
> also... yes... this is in present tense suddenly, woops. i'm going to go fix chapter one now. 
> 
> I am.. aiming to do two posts a month. Originally I was like YEAH I'll do a post a week but lmao. So see y'all again soon!! Hope you enjoyed reading xo


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link makes some new friends! Sort of!

Link never really considered himself a person of “interest.” In Akkala, Arizona, he was just one of many boring farm kids that spent more time in the field than actually doing homework. Link’s always been more concerned with keeping to himself than anything else. He figures if he doesn’t talk much, he’ll be able to hide the fact that he really doesn’t have much to say in the first place. 

When his social worker sent him to Castle Town, Link had a plan: get through one last year of school, raise enough money to buy a car, and then find a job in a town, where no one knows who he is. 

Three periods into his first day at Castle Town High and Link’s already beginning to doubt his ability to keep his head down. Or rather, he’s capable of that, but no one seems to be catching the fucking hint. Walking down the hallway it feels like everyone’s eyes zone directly on him, as if he has a sign above his head that says  _ new kid alert _ in flashing colors. 

Link ducks into a bathroom closest to his next classroom, wrinkling his nose as soon as he enters. It smells like a combination of piss, weed, and mold—the standard for any boy’s bathroom in high school, but made worse by the fact that the school apparently never invested in air conditioning. The one upside: it’s empty. Link feels his entire body relax. Inside, he can still hear the roar of the entire school switching classes, a distant ocean away from his dirty pond of brief solitude. Rolling back his shoulders, he turns the water on in the sink, splashing some on his face and underneath his hat. His entire head is matted from sweat, but he tugs the green beanie sitting on his hat tighter over his hair.

There are certain things he doesn’t want to deal with on the first day of school, even if it means that he’s probably three minutes away from heat stroke at all times. 

The door flings open and the rush of sound and four other boys roll in. Link tenses, body still turned directly to the sink. They crowd into the bathroom without so much of a glance at him, and one kicks out a box that had been stuffed under the end of the farthest sinks. He plops down on it, pulling out a joint. “Fuckin’ A, Ms. Joy’s class was even worse than normal,” he complains, planting his feet as wide as possible, and adjusting the newsboy paper cap on his head. “How many times can she call on me in one class?”

Another boy with spiky brown hair leans against one of the bathroom stalls. “Ms. Joy needs a vacation if you ask me. Did you hear?” He lowers his voice until it’s a whisper. “Apparently, she bought a condo off the coast in Puerto Rico. Where did she even get that much money?” 

A third boy, with a low ponytail and blue hair nods enthusiastically. “I heard that she’s secretly running a brothel out of Telma’s.”

“ _ Please _ .” Newsboy Paper Cap scoffs, lighting the joint finally. “Who would even participate with Ms. Joy? Drags is more likely.” He stabs the joint in the air. “That dude’s got this entire town under his thumb.”

One of the boys groans. “Ivan, we are  _ not  _ bringing up the Drags Conspiracy again.”

“It’s better than the Ms. Joy’s Brothel rumor,” the first, Ivan, says. 

The others make noises of disagreements, and then they’re off arguing about which teacher would run a brothel and who would run a drug deal. Link, who had been standing at the sink frozen, even when he heard the bell ring, thinks he can just leave. They don’t seem to be paying him any mind, when the fourth boy’s eyes light upon him. 

“Oi, ain’t you the new kid?” 

Link’s hand had just fallen upon the door. Suddenly, the four boys hone in on him, as if he had only turned visible to them. Maybe he had, for all he knows. 

Link decides it’s not worth it. He moves to leave.

The boy with blue hair casually moves to lean halfway against the door, right next to Link, blocking his exit. “Hey, he asked you a question. Can you not hear him, or does the hat make you deaf?” 

“No,” Link says. 

“No, you’re not deaf, or no you’re not the new kid?” Ivan says. 

“Both,” Link says, because he’s tired and would honestly just like this conversation to be over at this point. He’s had his fair share of run in with kids like these: not enough to do but make trouble. And by this late in their schooling, the teachers stopped caring as long as they weren’t setting something on fire. 

“Nah, you’re definitely the new kid,” Ivan clambers off his makeshift stool, to stand next to the purple haired boy. He jabs out the light of the joint against the wall, sticking it back in his pocket. “We had algebra this morning together. I’m Ivan, that’s Jin—” the boy with the spiky hair waves—“You know Jun of course,” the blue haired boy offers a grin with pointed teeth, “And the quiet guy is Jun-Roberto, but we just call him JR.” The last boy with a mass of brown hair that’s practically covering his eyes offers a short nod, frown never leaving his face. “And we’re the Killer Bees! We’ve been running this place since we were kids. And every new kid needs a good ol’ Killer Bee initiation.”

“Ivan, we’ve never had a new kid initiation,” the spiky hair kid—Jin—hisses.

“Shut up, Jin.” Ivan crosses his arms, attempting to loom over Link. He’s got an inch on Link, but it doesn’t do much to make him look threatening. “It’s like a lil sacrifice to Castle Town, ya know? Everyone’s gotta pay their dues around here, if you know what I mean.”

“Is this in the bylaws?” JR says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “I really don’t want to update them again.”

“You say that every time,” Jun, the blue haired boy, says. “It’ll take you like five seconds.”

“Shut up, all of you, of course it’s already there. We’ve just never had a chance to welcome someone new,” Ivan says. 

“Well  _ I  _ don’t remember putting it there,” JR says.

Link realizes they’re on the verge of forgetting him, which is practically impressive. “Excuse me,” he says, attempting politeness. “But I should really get to class.” 

“Right, class.” Ivan nods agreeably. “No worries, we’ll just need your hat first.”

Link’s entire body tenses. 

(“Why the hat?” Jin says.

“It’s the initiation,” Jun loudly whispers back. 

“Guys, shut up.”)

“No thanks,” Link says, flatly. “I need to go.” He tugs on the door hard, but Jun leans back onto it, closing it. 

“No can do, it’s the initiation.” Ivan gives a wide, cheerful grin. He holds out his hand, expectantly. 

Outside, the bell rings, and it’s gone quiet. Link eyes him distastefully. “Not interested.” Link tugs again on the door, and is met with the same results from before. 

"I don’t see the issue, it’s just a hat.” Jun reaches for the hat, but Link smacks his hand away. His heart’s pounding against his chest. Suddenly, the bathroom feels way too crowded. Extra sweat builds at his temples and the air feels even more heavy. Link stares at the four of them, and they stare back. Ivan eyes him, clearly calculating whether it’s worth it or not. Link shifts back, from the door now, a little resigned. He’s no stranger to fights, but he  _ really _ wasn’t planning on having one today. And he sure wasn’t planning on getting suspended on the first day of his school over  _ his hat.  _

But hell, since when has Link’s luck ever been good?

Ivan and Jun advance, crowding Link back to the middle of the bathroom, while Jin and JR circle around. Link’s entire body tense—

The door flings open and all of them whirl around. 

“Drags!” Ivan greets cheerfully. 

Mr. Dragmire blinks at them from behind his spectacles. He takes in the Killer Bees; JR gives his widest grin, slinging his arm around Link’s shoulder. Link crosses his own arms, giving Dragmire his best stone-faced look. 

“Hello boys. I’m sure you just missed the bell ringing a few moments ago,” Dragmire says. 

“Sure did,” Ivan says. “We were just getting to know our new classmate.”

“Ah. Of course.” Dragmire sounds amused, as if he knows what “getting to know” means. “Well, I’m sure your teachers will be missing you.”

“Yep, we’ll get moving.” Ivan jerks his head at the other boys. JR pats Link on the shoulder as he goes. “See ya later, Link!” Ivan calls as they exit the bathroom. “We’ll have to pick this up later.”

They leave, chattering all the way, and then it’s just Dragmire and Link. Link tugs his hat down over his head again. Close call that one. But out of everyone to come stop it, Link doesn’t know if he should feel better that it’s Dragmire or worse. 

You see, Link has the luck of not only having Dragmire as his teacher, but also his new guardian. 

Whether it’s good luck or bad luck, Link’s yet to figure out. 

Thankfully, they’re both on the same page: best not to make it open knowledge around the school. Link can only imagine the rumors that would circulate. And he’s already got enough of those to contend with, after being in Castle Town for 72 hours. 

Not that Link could answer any rumors if they  _ did  _ crop up. He’s still unclear  _ how  _ custody had passed to Dragmire, a man Link had never met in his life, but he certainly isn’t going to start questioning it. Better than a group home, from what Link had experienced. 

“Thanks,” Link says. 

“What else is a new guardian for? Here, I’ll walk you to class so they don’t mark you as late.” Dragmire opens the bathroom door, gesturing for Link to go first. “Nice to see you making friends.” He says it in such a way that it could be sincere, but Link sees his mouth tugging up slightly. 

Link shoots him a look, and Dragmire drops the act, chuckling slightly. “The Killer Bees aren’t bad,” he says. “Think of them as, hmm, undirected chaos.”

Link makes a noncommittal noise. “Chaos” isn’t really what Link wants to associate with. He’d prefer the farthest thing from it. Wistfully, he thinks of the farm in Arizona. At least the cows didn’t try to make conversation with him. Or ask anything of him at all. 

His heart aches, suddenly. It hits him, there, as they walk past the empty lockers, and the bright blue walls, that he’s not going back any time soon. No early mornings on the farm. No sister or grandma to bother him during the day ( _ and that’s a whole other problem, isn’t it? _ ). 

Instead, he’s going to be the new kid in Castle Town High for a long time. 

The thought fills him with so much dread, that he just wants to lie down on the floor. 

It must have shown on Link’s face more than he realized because Dragmire says, “Cheer up! There are worse things than the Killer Bees out there.”

For some reason, that doesn’t make him feel better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Killer Bees and Ms. Joy are from Wind Waker! Aged up from their elementary school selves. I promise everything in this chapter will eventually go somewhere. 
> 
> idk why I feel like every bit of drama at my high school went down in the bathroom. so, yay for weird bathroom scenes! feel like I should shout out Ender's Game, which also had a weird amount of bathroom scenes.
> 
> Oh follow me on my fic twitter & yell about The Untamed with me if you're watching it: @garbagemediares
> 
> hope y'all are staying sane and healthy xoxo


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